FEEL LIKE YOUR ONLY CURE FOR DANDRUFF IS THE GUILLOTINE?
Use Clancy’s home remedy to control dandruff. Crush two aspirin to a fine powder and add it to the normal amount of shampoo you use each time you wash your hair.
I’m excited to visit my son and his family in Chicago. However, the holidays put me behind in my domestic chores. The clock was ticking and I could no longer stave off the inevitable.
I woke up at 5:45 a.m., turned on the coffee pot, and then relaxed while staring at the Christmas tree. I knew it’d only take a couple of hours to dismantle the tree and put away the ornaments, but there had to be a quicker solution. I grabbed a stack of construction paper, cut out thirty humongous sized colored hearts, and Scotch taped them over the Christmas ornaments. Voilà! I’d just made my first Valentine tree. Now all I had to do was plug in the lights, but as I bent over to grab the cord, I noticed a warning label—lights to be used for indoor and outdoor use only. Where else would I put them?
While contemplating the meaning of the warning label it suddenly occurred to me that if a person had a Valentine tree they needed to buy Valentine cards. This is especially true when you have thirteen grandchildren and will be in Chicago on February 14.
Thirty minutes later, with Valentine cards in hand, I noticed a sale on light bulbs. I threw two containers in a basket while pondering why eggs and light bulbs are packaged in flimsy cardboard boxes. Because there are no stupid questions I thought about asking a sales clerk if the light bulb manufactures were as careless in shipping their product as they were in the packaging, but then wondered what kind of questions do stupid people ask?
I continued down the aisle and overheard a group of adolescents complaining about their parents. By the time I reached the checkout line I had a solution for the disgruntled teenagers. They should move out of their parents’ house and get a job while they still know everything.
There was only one cashier so I waited patiently and entertained myself by reading a rag magazine. Hum . . . one of Justin Bieber’s favorite sayings is “Never say never.” Isn’t that an oxymoron?
While leaving the store I couldn’t help but notice all the people on their cell phones and I began wondering if the term “dialing a number” was technically correct since the call wasn’t made on a rotary phone. From now on I was going to say, “Do a number.”
I raced across town, but slowed down when I saw the deer crossing sign. Why are there deer crossing warnings? Everyone knows deer never cross the road. California White-tailed deer walk down the middle of the road with their heads held high.
As I approached my house, I was nearly sideswiped by a car driven by an elderly man leaving the nursing home parking lot. He rolled down his window, swore, and held up his middle finger to remind me that I was number one in his life. I glanced in my rearview mirror as he drove down the hill while questioning if I should toot my horn in response to the “Honk if you love, God” sticker on his bumper.
After stuffing the cards with candy, I headed upstairs to gather the laundry. I picked up my husband’s pants and threw them in the hamper while questioning why we call pants “a pair” of pants when it’s only one item. This made me think of glasses because if there is a blizzard in Chicago the sun will reflect off the snow and I will need “a pair” of sunglasses.
While checking to make sure the sunglass (what I now prefer to call them) were safely tucked in my purse, I noticed a handful of loose tictacs at the bottom of my clutch, but since they are a dime a dozen I threw them in the trash can while wondering what the amount is for a baker’s dozen.
The thought of a baker’s dozen made me hungry and as I made my way to the kitchen I began to realize that this day resembled the popular children’s book, “If You Give a Pig a Pancake,” by Laura Numeroff. I wondered if the author would sue me for copyright infringements if I posted this snippet on my blog, but questioned if there is no such thing as bad publicity then why do I care. . .
As I washed down my cheese and crackers with wine, I thought of a question stupid people ask and I had a solution. The next time the phone rang and woke me from an afternoon nap, I wasn’t going to answer the phone in a groggy voice and wait until the person asked, “Were you sleeping?” Nope, not me. I’m going to answer the phone and say, “I’m wide awake.”
I finished my snack, and then turned on my Valentine tree lights while wondering if that homemaker in Yorkshire, England was really raised by wild monkeys.
Lately, I’ve posted more about my life’s journey than The Taste of Orange journey. I apologize to my followers, but I must post one more unrelated topic because the dead cannot speak. That’s why it’s important as a funeral director’s daughter to dispel the myths. Below are the questions I’ve been asked throughout the years and the honest, undisputable answers.
I once heard that a casket flew out the back of a hearse, causing the corpse to roll onto the road. Does this happen often?
It boggles my mind how often this happens. That’s why it’s imperative to turn your headlights on during the funeral procession-visibility is everything.
Why is embalming fluid pink?
The main ingredient is Pepto Bismol.
Is it true that all funeral directors and their families reside in the funeral home?
Yes, at night the embalming room functions as the family room. Just typing the word embalming makes me crave popcorn. Pass the butter.
On television, they show people eating in the embalming room. Does this really happen?
Every day. However, funeral directors never eat tuna sandwiches in the embalming room. The combination of tuna vapors and embalming fluid fumes cause toxic gas. Roast beef is preferred.
Have you ever touched a dead person? If so, what did their skin feel like?
A hairless cat.
I’ve heard that everyone takes one last breath forty-eight hours after death.
Yes, that’s why the nostrils are stuffed with cotton and the mouth glued shut within the first six hours of death.
Is it true that hair and nails continue to grow after death?
Absolutely. The lock and seal on the casket is so that years later the accumulation of hair doesn’t pop the lid off. Nails become brittle after death and snap off at the nail beds once they reach fourteen feet in length—the average length of a casket is eighty-four inches.
I’ve heard that bodies actually sit up days after death.
It’s true and has freaked me out more than once.
Did you ever lie down in a casket?
Yes, but they are not as soft as they appear . . . they are softer. I rest my head on a casket pillow every night. They’re awesome for neck support. Ask your local funeral director if he/she can give you a good deal on their copper casket brand pillows. Nothing says “home” like a crushed velvet pillow.
What happens when you get ‘scared to death’ twice?
The funeral director takes two nice vacations instead of one.
Just the sight of a hearse creeps me out. Did you ever ride in a hearse?
Yes. The fragrance of carnations always reminds me of the scent inside a hearse.
Why do people appear heavy after death?
It’s the same principle as photos and television adding ten pounds, except death adds thirty. Shame on those that thought I’d fall for that dead weight cliché.
What is the difference between funeral homes and mortuaries?
The services at funeral homes cost twice as much as they do at mortuaries. Funeral homes employ funeral directors whereas mortuaries hire mere morticians.
Do funeral directors have long happy marriages?
Yes, my mother passed away four years ago, but my parents were happily married just shy of sixty years.
Do you have to go to school to become a funeral director?
Yes, but only those with a genius I.Q. gain acceptance into the Mortuary Science Program. If you couldn’t answer thirteen out of fifteen of these questions, you should pick an easier profession like a lawyer, doctor, or reality star. After all, funeral directors are post-mortem cardiovascular surgeons!
Always remember that no matter how evil you are on earth, nothing sends you straight to heaven like a copper casket.
In closing . . . pass the butter, but don’t drink the Pepto Bismol!
Mitzi: What’s up?
Mark (husband): They shipped your stereo system to the office. It’s stacked in the conference room and I need you to drive down with the Bronco and load up the boxes.
Mitzi: Why was it shipped to the office? I don’t remember giving the service rep your work address.
Mark: I don’t know. But I need it out of here. I have clients coming in and it’s taking up all the space in the conference room.
Mitzi: Why didn’t you ask if they could redeliver the boxes to our house? It has to be a mistake.
Mark: Marilyn (seventy-two year old receptionist) signed for the boxes while I was out. Why are you making this so difficult?
Mitzi: The last time we got something delivered by a courier, the box had a gaping hole in it. I hope Marilyn didn’t sign without making sure the boxes were intact.
Mark: Are you picking them up or not?
* * * * * * * * * *
Fifteen minutes later
Mitzi: Oh, my God. Look at all these boxes.
Mark: You’re the one that wanted the total stereo package.
Mitzi: The boxes weigh a ton. I hope everything fits in the Bronco. The electrician’s won’t be at the house for a couple of months. Where am I going to store all these boxes?
Mark: In the garage.
Mitzi: I can’t store my stereo system in the garage. It could be stolen.
Mark: Like someone can’t break into the house and steal it?
* * * * * * * * * *
Two months later, I’m vacuuming around the boxes in the living room when the phone rings.
Mitzi: I hope you’re not working late tonight. I’m cooking one of your favorite dishes.
Mark: You aren’t going to believe this.
Mitzi: I hate when people start a conversation like that. What happened?
Mark: I have two police cars following me through town. I’m headed home.
Mark: I was sitting in my office when Marilyn knocked on my door. She said there were four police officers in the waiting room and they wanted to talk to me.
Mitzi: Are our kids okay?
Mark: Everyone is fine.
Mitzi: You won’t be if you don’t get to the point.
Mark: They wanted to know where their rifles were.
Mark: I told them I didn’t even own a firearm.
Mark: They said they traced the rifles to the office. That’s when I remembered the shipment Marilyn signed for. I told them our stereo system was shipped to the office over two months ago and that you took the boxes up to the house.
Mitzi: Thanks. I’ve always wanted to be handcuffed and taken to the police station for a mug shot. Didn’t you look at the labels on the box?
Mark: No. I assumed it was the stereo system. Did you check the labels?
Mitzi: No. I assumed you knew what you were talking about. We just proved that the first three letters in the word assume spells ass.
Mark: We’ve never had a gun in our house and now we may have more firepower than all the citizens in town combined.
Mitzi: Your office is a good two miles from the police station. How could anyone confuse those two addresses? The police don’t think we’d keep the guns on purpose, do they?
Mark: They were stoned faced . . . and I do have two cop cars following me up the hill.
Mitzi: Where are you now?
Mark: Heading up B Street. Why?
Mitzi: I have to hang up and touch-up my makeup. (Obviously, my husband didn’t know that it’s a job requirement for all policemen, firemen, and medics to look “hot”).
* * * * * * * * * *
Five minutes later four officers enter the house.
Mark: The boxes are in the living room.
Officers frantically cut the inconspicuous cardboard boxes open.
Good-looking police officer: Looks like we found all our rifles.
Mark: Mitzi, your mouth is open.
Mitzi: This experience gives a whole new meaning to our Bang & Olufsen surround sound system.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Granted, this took place over eight years ago, but the controversy over new gun laws got me thinking. Perhaps we should all start checking the shipping labels before signing the delivery confirmation slip and help courier companies implement a better tracking system.